


Forgotten Gold

by KingLoptr (Aestridr)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Dissociation, Doppelganger, Human Loki, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Loki, Protective Thor, Psychological Drama, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Tony is helping, at least at first/so he thinks, ratings will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aestridr/pseuds/KingLoptr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor finds Loki on Midgard without a clue to who he was, what he'd come from, or what he'd been through. After everything, and all their heartache, he once again finds himself trying to mend Loki's broken pieces so that maybe they could learn to love each other again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set post Avengers and post Thor 2, with the premise that after Thor returned to rule Asgard and found Loki instead, a series of unknown (so far) events and realizations caused Loki to end up fallen again.  
> I have no beta, but I'm usually pretty careful about any glaring errors :))

He'd always felt like insanity itself had a particular smell to it.

He couldn't be certain if it were that way for anyone else, and he was not even certain if he were actually 'insane' by definition...but for him, he felt like he could catch the scent of his own quiet brand of madness, some nights. It smelt like the sky was burning, like there was a constant crackling in the air. It was like too much oxygen and then the sudden lack-there-of. Like being hurtled off the face of the planet and through the atmosphere to fade away in slow floating space.

Loki could no longer remember what it was like to be without that feeling. He laid awake and stared at the ceiling at night until it actually lulled him to sleep. He lived alone—very, very alone in an airy little one-bedroom apartment in New York. He'd also been here for as long as he could remember.

He could recall no childhood memories, no family, nothing like that. No one else really knew him either, as far as he could tell. He just stayed here, tried to continue to function despite the constant nagging burn at the back of his mind, and lived.

His apartment was simple, with jarringly white walls and a hard cherry-wood floor, matching wooden dressers, drawers, cabinets. A rather nice, simple television and a single, black couch resided in the main area. His plain, full-size metal-framed bed and a small desk and nightstand were the only other items of substantial furniture in the place. The simplicity was good for him, and yet it was strewn with countless canvases, paints, easels, brushes, empty and full frames—he was an artist.

He got by very reasonably well by selling his paintings, but the occasional times he got anxious that he wouldn't be able to sell much for awhile, some mystery buyer would come out of nowhere and purchase his most expensive piece available. He never actually  _saw_  this buyer in person, but it always happened, so he constantly felt like he was being watched. Perhaps it was only...that one guy? His mind searched for a name. Timothy Stark or was it Thomas Stark? Antonio Stark...? Loki shook his head. Whoever owned Stark Industries. Sometimes that guy would openly buy his paintings, which was quite the nice payout, as he'd usually go over the required bid...maybe he also bought some anonymously then.

Loki figured it was because of Stark's interest that everyone seemed to know his art, but they still did not know who  _he_  was.

Loki didn't even know who he was,  _he was just here_. So it nearly always escaped him that he was actually a relatively well known artist name in the city by now; it seemed unfathomable to him, alone in his blank white living space.

 

Sleep wouldn't come for him just yet, so he kicked off his simple white bedsheets and padded to a window, shirtless and just in his sweats (he had many windows, and he loved this—loved having a constant flow of air on his skin). The sweats were hanging off of his hips in an uncomfortably loose manner, and so he automatically reached to his desktop where there was a bag of chips. Contrary to popular belief he was  _not_ a starving artist...he was constantly nibbling on some readily available piece of food, yet his body refused to acknowledge that, like it didn't know just how much he was putting into it. Now, he opened the window to the nighttime spring air, and wished he could see more stars.

Sometimes he liked going out to watch stars, adored it even, but other times he felt like the sky was  _trying_  to open up and pull him into oblivion, so he would grow increasingly nervous until he left for a more comfortable and indoor activity.

Now, he only swept his raven black hair around his shoulders and to the side, letting it fall forward to reach nearly mid-chest, then muttered hoarsely about wanting to cut it. He always said that but never did it; not even a trim. For now, he'd shiver mildly in the window and stare blankly out at the shimmering lights below, almost  _wishing_  they were starlight and abyss to consume him as he compulsively inhaled the nearest pack of cigarettes.

By the time he wandered back into bed it was 5am and his mind was too foggy, and he had fitful visions of black holes and flying debris as he drifted into slumber.

 ~

In the morning, he stood, still damp from his shower but wearing the same sweatpants he'd slept in, and stared at his newest project. It was a 48x48 canvas that he planned to light up with dazzling golden spires he'd seen one too many times in his dreams this entire week. He was a master of painting lights; any kind of light. He could spill sunlight onto a canvas as if streaming visual magic from his hands was a muscle memory, and he could do it with any medium—paints, colored pencil, ink, any of them. Many at the art shows complimented him with a running jest that he could simply paint a lamp and it would magically turn on and light a room in the middle of the night.

He sighed and glanced down at his hands, but they were currently too shaky to start any work.

“Coffee, food— _function_.” He whispered, turning to leave the canvas and go back to get dressed.

He liked to wear greys, silvers...darker greys... muted desaturations with accessories of black. Art critics found it "funny" and “delightfully ironic” that everything he painted was so bold and vibrant, yet he looked like he'd stepped out of a black and white film all the time. It was true. He was impossibly pale, and generally refused to wear any color besides a navy blue on occasion (only for art openings and special occasions, mind you).

His eyes were bright green though. Too bright. He scared himself in the bathroom mirror sometimes, those times when it briefly seemed like his own reflection knew something he didn't.

Loki shuddered in his oversized grey sweater, then buttoned his nondescript black jeans, threw on some basic black boots, and left without combing his hair because suddenly he didn't want to see himself. By the end of the day it would be a windswept nest, but that was normal. Sometimes people saw him from behind at a distance, and mistook him for various ragged and ink-haired supermodels.

~ 

Outside in the clear morning air, Loki felt crowded, jittery, and still alone _,_ just not quite as alone as was comfortable. He supposed that didn't make sense. He hadn't even had his coffee yet and he could feel his line of thought going off on a tangent about the offense of too many city-induced sensations-- the jostle of humanity, the stale water in the gutter,  _his green eyes beckoning in the mirror,_ no, no, nope, coffee and muffins,  _mirror,_  too many pigeons _—_ he felt cold and hurried and sick as he stumbled into the gate of his favorite outdoor cafe spot, then slammed right into the chest of a tall broad stranger who immediately caught him by the arms like he'd known they'd collide.

“Oh, Loki! Good morning.” A deep voice from above, and Loki was still reeling, feeling like the voice was coming from the sun itself. He blinked. No. Just that one guy he saw everywhere. Not Stark. This guy was a no name, he thought; just some tall blonde that always seemed to be around every corner.

“Are you alright?” The man sounded concerned now, and Loki realized he'd been staring for far too long into thin air.

“I—I'm fine.” Loki indignantly stepped back, brushed himself off and stared properly at the brick wall of huge stranger he'd just nearly knocked himself out on. Bright smile, blue eyes, scruffy and kind face, blond hair pulled back in a low bun, a too white cotton shirt that nearly made Loki shade his eyes from it in the blinding daylight (and the cotton was very very soft....Loki knew, his face had been pressed on it seconds earlier).

“Wait—why do you know my name?” Loki stammered, and the man only chuckled, directing them to stand out of the pathway they were blocking, and Loki followed blankly, focused on the reserved strength in the huge hand pulling him by the elbow, still staring at the way the stranger's eyes rivaled the crystal clear sky itself. They shone, watching him. He could paint those eyes.

“I am certain that...possibly a third of the people here know your name, Loki. You paint wonderfully.”

Loki felt that fact fizzle around in the back of his mind. It burned. Should people know who he is on sight? No, he was just—just him. He never watched current events. He just made his sales and slept and painted and smoked and wandered about downtown like a ghost. Sometimes people asked him to sign things. Only a little. He would quietly scribble on whatever they wanted, mumble a thank you before they could thank him first, and be on his way. Those times often left him mildly shocked and wondering what was wrong with those people.

He felt the ceaseless confusion knit his eyebrows together now, and the blond was sitting him down, then sitting across from him at a tiny black wicker table in a corner, in tiny black wicker chairs. The stranger would break that tiny chair to splinters if he so much as sat in it wrong, Loki was sure. The man looked like a god. Loki's breath caught in his throat and it was hard to take a calm breath for a moment.

“Are you sure you're alright? You usually look like you're writing orchestra scores in your head, but today you seem paranoid. Is someone after you?” The man's expression darkened in a serious manner with the question. Loki was mildly stunned. This guy genuinely was worried.  He suddenly made himself alert again because how could he have been observed so closely to cause concern?

“Yes,  _you_.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Who are you?” Loki snapped, feeling an unexplained  _ire_  rise up deep in his center at the amused way the bright stranger had replied.

“My name is Thor.” He said so readily, so easily—no, eagerly—that Loki automatically tilted his head incredulously. He knew he was squinting at this 'Thor' but he couldn't help it. He saw Thor  _everywhere_. It seemed many other people knew Thor too, now that he heard the name again and was bothering to  _care at all_ , but—Loki never talked to anyone, and he frequently discarded such small details about “social matters”. He didn't  _do_  'social interaction', save what precious little he had to to get his art where it needed to be. But, sometimes Thor was on the subway, a few cars down. Sometimes when Loki was opening an art show, Thor was mingling the crowd. Sometimes Thor was just far away enough in a large crowd that he shouldn't be noted, but Loki always remembered distantly spotting him, in a fading afterthought, and he always looked very calm and radiated an inner confidence. Their eyes caught once or twice, but Thor tended to look away politely and not interact, as if he were trying to stay on the outskirts of Loki's 'scene' but not get all the way in. Until now. Now he was very decidedly coming in.

“I have to go.” Loki uttered in such a stilted manner that the sound of his own voice made him even more uncomfortable. Then he stood stiffly, but Thor stood too, seeming like he'd nearly splinter the tiny table in his hurry. “But I was just going to have coffee. Maybe a muffin. You too? Please.” The blue eyes absolutely  _begged._

Was Thor doing this on purpose, Loki wondered? He sat down, but only because he felt like he needed to. Thor gazed at him as if he were an old friend or a sad memory, and Loki felt a pang of sourceless guilt spring without warning from that burning spot in the back of his mind.

-

“So...where do you live? I see you around me everywhere, but I've never seen you actually—come from any one way in particular.” Loki murmured against the rim of his freshly arrived coffee. He took it completely black, which Thor seemed to find unnerving.

“I do not live near here.” Thor answered. Loki waited. Thor smiled.

“Then where?” Loki pressed impatiently. Thor attacked his muffin and mumbled something about "Far away".

“And your job?” Loki asked next, forgetting how pushy and demanding he was starting to sound. The clawing, dangerous sensation at the back of his mind was pressing his buttons, causing his mouth to fly open and demand information. The air began to smell like insanity again. That didn't normally happen during the day, not too often. Thor seemed to provoke it. Loki's fingers dug little jagged crescent shapes into the soft foam coffee cup holder as Thor made a show of wanting to finish chewing his food before answering.

“Mm. I am a business ruler—ehm—manager.” Thor said when he'd gulped the muffin. Loki felt his eyebrow twitch involuntarily.

“Oh? Where?”

“Hm. Family run, you would not know it.”

“You're a liar.” Loki said immediately, and something in his voice didn't sound like himself. He was usually more subtle when displeased. He blinked and slowly put down his cup, his face shifting from the hard lines he realized it had formed, softening to his usual expression. “I'm...sorry.” He mumbled, staring at Thor still rather blankly, but Thor was stifling the biggest grin yet, then he tossed his head back and  _laughed_ , hearty and rich, and the sound tugged uncomfortably at Loki's heart.

“Ahh...Oh, Loki...” Thor sighed as he recovered, like there was some ancient joke going on and Loki was the punchline. But even with  _that_  offensive an impression, coming from Thor, Loki didn't know if he felt offended. He only felt very...noticed.

“So...where are  _you_  from? Before you came here, that is?” Thor asked in return suddenly, and Loki opened his mouth and—and--He was an utter blank. So blank the harder he tried, that it pained him. In a few seconds he had a splitting, splitting headache, and he dropped forward, slumping with his elbows on the table and his hands in his hair. Thor was reaching a hand for him.

“Easy...are you certain you are alright? Shall I—bring you back home?”

Loki shrank away from Thor's approaching fingers, not liking the way Thor had said that.

“You— _no_ , I do not know you. I have to leave. Goodbye.” But he  _did_  know Thor. He did--and the realization of that vague feeling was cruelly present and it hurt to linger on.

He was standing and running before he could let Thor say anything else. He didn't  _know_  where he himself came from and it was something he was constantly trying to drown out; he very much did not want to know, deep down, so he spoke to no one, listened to no one. His television was for show, just in case he had clients and buyers over. He did not peer at news or magazine headlines, he did not follow the rest of the artist community in New York. He was a blur. He was a monochrome blur on the streets, he was a common wisp in the sky, he was a scar--and he only occasionally ruptured color and bled beams of glowlight onto a blank canvas and was deemed worthy of attention or criticism.

His dreams and nightmares alike were surging back to the forefront of his mind, and before he even registered it, he was sitting on the floor, in his studio, his back slouched to the bolted and locked door.

He'd just wanted a quiet morning and some coffee. Maybe to stroll in the park and eat more baked goods and space out and mentally paint more paintings for a gala deadline fast approaching. There was something he'd seen a few nights ago in a fevered sleep; a glowing blue cube object emanating spirals of light, and he wanted to paint it.

“Ah--” He uttered a quiet noise, wincing at the imagery when it stung the forefront of his mind, and his head was in his hands again while he took deep breaths. He hadn't had an 'incident' in public for quite awhile, and this Thor person had caused him to block out even the memory of getting himself all the way back home. For a moment he sat there on the floor trying to nurse a migraine, images of glinting iron and flashing ethereal blue slicing and blazing together in images through his mind. He wanted to etch down the stunning pain in splotches of oil color on a canvas, maybe detail it with a blood filled quill.

 

He made himself get up, into his tiny restroom and run a hot bath (avoiding the mirror), then grab a huge glass of white wine (and avoid the mirror), before stripping and easing into the water, welcoming the stinging temperature threatening to boil him alive. He didn't want to leave his apartment today after all. Even with the mirror behind him and out of view, he still felt like eyes were on him, and he downed his wine to just put the glass down on the floor and sit still in the water, long enough until it ran cold--and for a moment he'd thought it had frozen over and he was blue in the face, until he jerked back into wakefulness and he was just—well, cold.

He stumbled out of the tub, neglecting to drain it, paced dripping wet into his bedroom to wrap himself in the largest black comforter he could find, and buried himself in it in the center of his bed, curled under like a sullen cat.

His dreams were of pervasive darkness, then hurtling through stars until he streaked out underneath the milkyway on fire, and landed blind in the blond strangers' arms, steaming like a fallen meteor. The stranger—no, Thor's—arms were stable rock and iron around him, and gentle rumbles like thunder and earthquakes pulsed just underneath his golden skin.

~~

When Loki had run away, Thor had turned and watched his back for a long as he was in view. Loki was moving so automatically and directly that the crowds actually parted from him.

“Even unconsciously he still commands a crowd.” Thor murmured, then took out a cellphone device that had been given to him by one Tony Stark, and auto-dialed the billionaire on the spot.

 

Thor: “I spoke to him.”

 

(Tony speaks afterward)

 

Thor: “He is completely lost...He remembers not a thing, and it pains him when I attempt to make him recall.”

 

(Tony expresses concerns)

 

Thor: “That is not true any longer...We have made up our differences...I told you what happened years ago. But it just still...all went wrong. But he is completely harmless at the moment, and when he remembers....when he remembers, hopefully he will still be with me.”

~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is running away from me and I'm long-winded. ~

The next day came drenched in cold gold sun and canopied by crystal clear skies. Loki flung himself awake in a clammy sweat after dreams of himself and a double that kept making him stare at the both of them in the mirror until the mirror burst into green flames, an inferno that devoured them both. His stomach roiled and he pitched forward in bed but did not heave. He took deep breaths and fell to the side, shrinking into himself and hugging his arms until he could take normal breaths. It wasn't his worst morning.

When he managed to peel himself out of bed he popped a couple of pills; absently prescribed depression meds from a careless doctor, that did little else but make him stiff jawed and shove through his day in a piqued mood, resilient against meltdowns and outbursts because they felt frivolous.

He hated it.

He couldn't paint like that and it made his dreams the following night seem more like hallucinations standing in his bedroom. He now did not know why he'd compulsively taken the pills.

Still, he dragged himself into the closet and dimly realized he hadn't awakened since he'd collapsed in bed the previous late morning. His thoughts immediately went to Thor and he cursed under his breath as he tugged on gray trousers and a black v-neck with long sleeves. He wanted to try to eat breakfast outside again, but hoped Thor would not be in the neighborhood.

He should fix his hair. It was matted and in knots and generally hideous. Slowly he shuffled toward the bathroom door, toward the mirror—he had managed not to look at himself in two days straight, even when brushing his teeth and washing his face. It was a practiced avoidance, deep-seated in irrational paranoia, he knew, but _no,_ it was not _irrational;_ his reflection was a grievous, judgmental thing waiting to flay his mind to pieces and pick at him until he bled.

He leaned into the mirror from the side, nearly as if he were shyly entering a room full of strangers.

Stepped forward.

     Calmly reached for his comb on the sink and slowly began to untangle the mess on his head. He took a deep breath and merely continued as usual.

          Noted his pallor even in the golden morning rays from the window, and frowned slightly at the deep shadows under his eyes.

His cheekbones were too sharp and his mouth a thin, taut line, and his lips had no color. Of course—sleeping a full day meant no food, and he dropped weight as easily as blinking. Sighing lightly, he got halfway through his hair, encountered a vicious uprising of strong knots and pulled too hard. The comb slipped and clattered to the floor, and when he bent to pick it up, he still felt eyes on him from the mirror.

“ _This is a childish fear. It's baseless.”_ But he possessed no childhood fears to reference; he could not recall being a child, and so currently, sometimes, he still felt like a brand new soul, vulnerable to life and helplessly lost. He was not afraid of himself, it was no manifestation of self hate, it was that reflection. It made no good sense. He stood with the comb and resumed slowly, met his own green eyes in the mirror, and ignored the cold clamminess that had immediately flashed over his hands.

No. The reflection was too intense.

He was _not_ watching the mirror as hard as that gaze was peering back at him. Was the combing motion even in sync? No. It was not.

Loki yanked the rest of the tangles from his hair with his eyes fixed down in the sink drain, his heart caught in his throat. He still felt the stare but he didn't dare look up. He backed away from the mirror when he was done, eyes on the floor, and turned to leave. The Presence of himself in the bathroom would be too much to bear for a few hours yet.

 ~

The stifling chill in the center of his gut did not go away, even as he quietly shut his door, wallet and keys in hand, and turned to descend the metal stairway from his fifth floor. He wondered if ghosts existed and if he were being haunted, and other silly things of that sort. The air exacerbated his unrest, both mental and physical as the early spring air whistled and whipped through the metal framework of the railings, catching in his too thin black hoodie. Stepping out of the shade of his building, he looked left, then right. No blond hair in a bun. Just streaks of pale morning sun glinting off of car glass and steel lamp posts. Just early risers and sleepy tourists milling about. 

_"It's a Saturday.. ”_

He'd meant to be halfway through his golden-spire painting by today. He was a distraction to himself in far more ways than one, and he despised it.

He meandered down the block, the opposite direction of his outdoor cafe with its tiny wicker tables (that Thor could crush), and ended up stopping at a little bakery with tempting scents wafting from its open doors. He nearly doubled over at the force with which his stomach growled at him in need, then dragged himself in. He was wanting something huge and rich flavored, perhaps with caramel and vanilla, something that would melt with sweetness and warmth on his tongue, and—Thor stood at the counter.

Loki froze in his tracks and considered turning and quietly leaving before he was spotted, but Thor turned around, then grinned broadly and kindly, immediately approaching him in three long strides.

“This was mine, but now it is yours.” Thor said, booming voice disrupting the early morning air as he handed Loki his giant cinnamon roll, and Loki found himself sitting in a booth by a window, Thor right next to him on the outside half. It was a trap, Loki felt like. He hadn't said anything yet and Thor was just watching him, pleasantness radiating out of his very pores.

“Are you alright after yesterday? I apologize. I should not have asked you such a question so soon.” Thor said when Loki simply began to eat but hadn't so much as said 'good morning'.

“So soon...? Like there are more invasive questions you want to ask?” Loki said evenly after he'd swallowed a few bites, and Thor looked mildly flustered.

“I meant..I meant that..I want to—help.”

“Help me what?”

“Help you remember.”

Loki's jaw tensed and he stopped eating immediately, staring down at the plate for just a few seconds before meeting Thor's eyes.

“And how would you know I need your help?” He snapped. This 'Thor' person was too familiar, and was too close for comfort, and Loki was easily riled by him. He decided that Thor was an annoyance, and that was all.

“I know because I am one of your missing memories.”

The confession hit Loki like a brick to the face, and he nearly felt winded--Just like yesterday when he'd collided with Thor in the first place. Even though somewhere while running home he'd felt that he truly did know Thor from somewhere, he hadn't actually convinced himself it was true. Thor outright saying it was a shock to his system.

But there was medication in his system as well, twice the normal dose, and he could almost feel the chemicals in his brain forcing back an impending anxiety attack of some sort.

Thor was laying a heavy hand on his shoulder and he bristled at the touch.

“It's alright. I do not expect you to respond to that, and you can ignore it for now if you wish. But, have dinner with me tonight.” Thor finished, and Loki snapped his head to stare.

“Are you asking me out??” He questioned with one eyebrow raised high, and Thor rose both eyebrows, seemingly thinking.

“If...that is what you would like.” He said carefully after just a few seconds. Loki eyed him suspiciously.

“Then is this how you know me? Did we...go out?” He asked more quietly, feeling a hot flush rise to his face despite his best efforts to both look and sound indifferent. Maintaining an ineffable indifference in front of someone like Thor was proving to be almost laughable. Thor was the type of presence that after just a short time became nearly unbearable in all the best ways. He was larger than life, like some great paradigm of decency and warmth and safe space. With all this greatness though, it seemed Loki's question had stumped him momentarily, until;

“It...well no. But toward the end, toward the moment you lost your memory, things had grown--somewhat complicated.” Thor had struggled to get even that explanation out, and he soon simply waved his hand dismissively, especially when Loki's expression of confusion grew. “We will get to that I am certain, in time. But not now. I do not wish you to have an incident like yesterday. Which is why you must start slowly, by having dinner with me!” A smile that put to shame the bright morning followed. 

Loki let the corner of his mouth twitch into the slightest smirk as he spied the hopefullness in Thor's staring.

“I don't know why I trust you. Everything that comes out of your mouth feels like a red flag. And you talk like an ancient grammar book.”

“I don't.” Thor retorted, eyebrows knit. His tone had changed. Loki peered at him questioningly for a few more moments, until Thor only grinned some more and grabbed a pen and napkin from the center of the table, scribbling down an address.

“Have you been near the Avengers Tower? Do you know it?” Thor suddenly asked, and Loki could feel Thor's eyes on him as his mind immediately went into overdrive.

Of course he _heard_ of the Avengers. And he couldn't help but see the huge gaudy tower owned by Stark, but...it was as if whenever he heard anything about it, about _them,_ his attention automatically diverted itself elsewhere, like he didn't want to see. It unnerved him even now; his mind was shutting out and trying to erase each fact or rumor he recalled, right as he recalled it. If there was no medication in him at the moment, he was unsure if he'd still be functioning very well. The smallest things tended to shut him down lately, and he was trying to be careful of triggers, rightfully so. Even still, he shook away his unease and nodded singularly to Thor, watching Thor's eyes light up with childlike joy.

“You do? Will you meet me there?” He asked, taking Loki's wrist in his hand—Loki noticed that Thor's fingers overlapped circling his narrow wrist and he swallowed thickly—and Thor pressed the addressed paper into Loki's palm. He merely pocketed it quickly.

“You're not going to pick me up at my place like a gentleman?” He teased lightly. “Also... I could have just put the address into my phone...”

“My apologies, I am unaccustomed to certain technology, so I forget that others could use it instead for these things. And I fear my preferred mode of transportation might overwhelm you at the moment.” Thor told him seamlessly, and Loki visibly balked but said nothing out loud. He didn't understand what was so strange about a phone storing an address. But, he couldn't drive either so he couldn't chide Thor for not having a car. He was curious about what type of transportation could be so 'overwhelming'. Again, he did not ask.

“Why meet at that tower...?” He wondered aloud as he resumed picking at his half eaten breakfast. Thor absently slung an arm around the back of Loki's side of the booth, and suddenly Loki became aware of how close they were sitting. He hadn't even noticed; it was as natural as breathing. Well, now it wasn't. Now it was all he could think about. Thor's t-shirt was fire-engine red and he wore loose dark jeans. He smelled of vanilla-coconut—possibly his shampoo—and also a faint sort of electric scent that reminded Loki of the burnt sky he always smelled in the middle of the night when his mental processes threatened to eat him whole.

“The location might jog your memory more than you know.” came Thor's answer about the tower.

Loki felt a mix of anxiety about the evening and awkward nerves about closeness of Thor's body all at once.

 

~

It was 4pm. He was supposed to be meeting Thor at 6, and he had a lot of emotions building up suddenly that he didn't understand how to process. At first he supposed he was only nervous; Thor was someone that knew him. Thor was going to help him remember. It was all too much, too soon. Besides the obviousness of that, he also couldn't stop thinking about what to wear, how to look.

Perhaps he should get a haircut.

Perhaps he should wear a _color_. ...No, this wasn't that big of a deal. At least it wasn't supposed to be. He frowned, even now as he was hurriedly splattering paint on his 48x48 project, flawlessly laying down the background for his golden spires. The sky itself flooded from his brush as effortlessly as he breathed; a deep blue sapphire sky alight with deep space and fading day, stars flickering, lively on the horizon, just how he'd seen it in his dream. He hadn't started on the gold yet, but Thor's eyes were spurring on the motivation for the blues, and maybe Thor's hair and skin would soon speak to him of golden grandiosity. He'd get to that part later.

There was his other source of nerves, he suddenly pinpointed. His thoughts were turning toward the possibilities of the end of the night before it even started. He hadn't recalled thinking about anyone's body as much as he was thinking about Thor's. He wanted to touch. He wanted to stare. He felt like he'd never take in everything Thor was, visually, and he knew he wanted to. More than that, he felt like he had before, and he desperately wanted that particular memory back. If he had to get it back with hands-on experience, then he would.

He sighed tersely, exasperated with himself, and smudged a stroke on his painting. Cursing mildly he moved to carefully correct it, even as Thor's deep laughter sang in the back of his mind and he was all at once too warm.

He decided this was now stupid, how much his thoughts insisted on deviating to _Thor._ He only granted himself a little bit of leeway for it, just because he knew he had never had someone say they knew more about him than he knew of himself, and that was surprisingly easy to do. And then there was Thor, catching him from falling even in his dreams, yet sending him into psychological fits by day. The dichotomy was exhausting and refreshing, curious and off-putting.

He needed to stop painting, _stop thinking_ , and get himself ready.

 

~

The faint screeching noise of the subway systems seemed to grow louder with each stop closer to the Tower. Loki sat still, trying to ignore how his heart was racing at the prospect of learning more about himself, about Thor, about everything. The Mirror had been challenging as he got himself ready. Twice, he thought he saw the reflection move while he stood still, so he kept moving and tried not to note whether it kept sync or not. It was as if the damn thing was getting _stronger_. No. He was a basket-case, that couldn't happen. Earlier he had been stressed about the previous day, that was all. _That was all._

He had reached his stop.

He staring blankly at his reflection in the doors when he stood to exit as the train slowed. Once he'd defeated his nerves in front of the mirror he had fussed over brushing his hair out until it was softer than it had been in weeks, then he put it back in a messy bun, sort of inspired by how Thor wore his. Loki's was messier, and bigger since his hair was a good deal thicker and longer, but he liked it that way. Loose strands framed his face nicely and it looked effortless and artsy. Good. He wore a thin white dress-shirt and left the ends untucked, a rather form-fitting pair of gray jeans that he'd thought twice about, his plain leather boots and a narrowly fitting black cardigan that he left unbuttoned. He had thought about wearing a color but decided that that was trying too hard. He was busy fussing over this decision in his head when he more intently caught his own attention in the glass. His reflection looked stern and judgmental, and clearly mouthed "what are you doing??”, sharp green eyes incredulous and wild. Loki himself hadn't moved.

In the next breath he was out of the train and on the streets, mere blocks from that huge obnoxious tower. He blinked and didn't remember running from himself.

Sighing heavily he started walking. The tower loomed ahead, too tall and imposing, arc-reactor tech blue lights gleaming at the top. Arc-reactor. He knew the tech name, he realized slowly. It had come out of nowhere.

The closer he got to the base of the building the louder the city noise sounded, the harder his heart pounded until he thought his ribs were rattling. The crackling in the back of his mind began to sting; each step was a step back in time. He looked up and felt like the sky above the tower peak was going to open into a chasm, a great hole into the far-reaches of nowhere. He heard distant explosions. He ignored them.

He'd tell Thor he did not want to see the roof, if asked to go inside. Thor must know Tony Stark, he vaguely assumed. Were they Avengers? He didn't know who the individual Avengers were. His mind refused to cooperate with him on that, and he convinced himself he should focus on the task at hand.

~~

Thor had placed himself outside in plain view for Loki's sake, so he wouldn't have to go into the lobby and bother with Jarvis and the intercom or Tony himself intercepting the notification that Loki was there. He assumed it would be more comfortable for all parties involved, even though it was true that Tony'd had years to recover from what had happened in New York; five years to be exact, and had since heard from Thor about his changes with Loki, what happened with Malekith, what happened afterward in Asgard...

He couldn't fault Loki for having no memory whatsoever, and he and Thor frequently discussed the problem of Loki's current state of cluelessness—Thor had managed to convince Tony that if Loki were to get his memories back now, he would be different. Tony was willing to give it a shot if it was so important to Thor.

The two had been watching over Loki for a long while now, Thor from a more up close proximity and Tony from higher up so to speak, supporting Loki's art career and letting Thor know when Loki would appear at upcoming shows, galas, and soirees.

Thor now smiled sadly as Loki was waiting for the traffic light so he could cross the intersection, and their eyes met across the distance. Loki's smile was faint but it was there, and for a second it seemed like he knew everything again, and that maybe they were meeting up to spend time together as they had before it all, with Loki teasing him familiarly and Thor countering, effortless banter, opposite and harmonious. Loki playing barely detectable pranks with his sparks of magic flying from his thin fingers, and Loki making snide remarks about Mjolnir. The two of them, together as one with their centuries old background and centuries old adventures and centuries old shared knowledge of times long lost.

Then the moment passed and the traffic light changed, and as Loki walked, his eyes were up at the tower, gaze wide and full of apprehension, his steps quick and modern, lacking their former glide and grace in favor of brisk, nervous steps--and to Thor he looked 1000 years younger. Human. The look that Thor found himself wearing on his face reminded him of how he used to look at Jane Foster, but he wiped it away. This was Loki. This was Loki, a fallen god, somehow robbed of his rich memories and stranded without identity, but he would not remain human forever.

Thor would try harder. It had taken him long enough to even get to the point where he felt like he could or even should speak to Loki (even after he'd figured out that Loki truly was not feigning his observable memory loss), but now that Loki was literally within arms reach, he wanted to try so much harder to get through to him. He still had to be careful. Loki seemed to be unconsciously resistant to any recollection. He wondered what had happened to Loki's magic, if Loki had repressed it or if it had left altogether. If it was merely unconsciously dormant, that could also mean trouble. Loki's skill as a sorcerer had exponentially grown by the time Thor found him back in Asgard alive and well, and if _this_ Loki were to awaken it without knowing how to control it...Thor didn't want to think about that for long. 

“Do you remember this place? You seem frightened.” Thor asked, touching Loki as soon as he got close. He laid his hands on Loki's shoulders and guided him farther onto the walkway, out of the bustle of people and away from the traffic breeze until they were right outside the Tower doors.

Loki's wide green gaze was trying to take in everything, and he kept glancing all the way up.

“Do you want to go see the top? If you have not assumed so, I am here frequently. Tony Stark will let us in.”

“No—no! I--” Loki stammered, and Thor quieted him by squeezing his shoulders warmly.

“It is alright! Just wondering. But...you seem to remember something about it?” He could tell Loki did, he could see it in his face. But everything about the rooftop of this tower was probably a very sore memory for Loki, and Thor didn't want to push it. From what he'd seen the other day, going too fast with Loki's healing process would cause a lot more trouble than it was worth.

~~~

Loki was still busy admiring Thor's clothing choice. Being part of the art industry, he did have quite the eye for style and he enjoyed seeing others' choices. Thor's intrigued him so far. It was so casual while Thor felt so regal in the way he carried himself and the way he spoke. It was direct opposition but it just _worked_. Across the traffic crosswalk he'd seen Thor, standing there watching him so intently, with such expectation, wearing his dark jeans from that morning but not the red t-shirt. He'd changed into a black button-down that clung tantalizingly to his physique. His hair was loose; no more bun.

Loki's breath caught in his throat because now Thor looked ten times more familiar and it ached in a multitude of ways. He'd approached Thor quickly across the road, and when Thor's hands landed warm and large and caring on his arms and shoulders he'd nearly collapsed.

Now, they sat in a rather posh restaurant, and Thor was still grinning expectantly from across the table.

“This is one of the best places to come eat...” Loki mused, peering around at the chandeliers and shiny floor tiles and bustling, busy, well-dressed servers. “You don't normally come places like this, do you? You don't seem the type. No offense, you just don't.” Loki said bluntly, staring at Thor sitting there shifting in his seat.

“I am not. You have expensive taste.” He said.

Loki sat there silently, still, his hands folded in his lap. Thor _did_ know him.

“What else do you know about me?...Without...saying too much?” Loki questioned, sampling their wine. He did very much enjoy wine. Thor already knew that too, apparently, it was the first thing their server brought to them, and the place seemed to already know who Thor was. But Thor looked like more of a rich-flavored beer type, and he didn't touch the wine, only gestured for Loki to enjoy himself.

“Hm. You like green.”

“Wrong.” Loki retorted immediately, feeling a sharp rush of excitement at telling Thor so. Thor cocked an eyebrow and sat back in his seat.

“You used to wear green. It was your signature.” Thor insisted.

“Never.” Loki replied curtly, and took a cool sip of the blush wine, eyes averted. He heard Thor sigh. All Loki could think of was the horrid green of his eyes and how they taunted him whenever he looked at himself. Wearing green? Unthinkable.

“Let me start again. Your creativity is natural. You can create with a flick of your wrist. I know you may not remember becoming an artist but you do not have to. You have always been one.” Thor said all at once. At this Loki looked up again and knew it was true. The look on his face must have said it all, because the golden man before him was smiling all the harder, his loose flaxen hair framing his face in light, and once again, Loki thought he could paint Thor. Perhaps he would. He took in a slow breath. This was it. He was with someone who knew him. He tried not to be needlessly anxious or anticipatory, but it happened on its own, and Thor saw it, and every time he saw it he tried to ease it.

“You order for me. If you know me so well.” Loki proposed when their waiter came to offer more than drink and bread. Thor grinned at him, watched him in his eyes, then nodded.

“So I shall.” Loki sat in blatant judgement, waiting as Thor ordered for himself first. The largest steak they had available, the largest beer available, a side of cheese-laden vegetables and potatoes. Then he looked at Loki, and peered over the menu.

“He will take...the Sweet Ginger Lobster. Side it with a simple vegetable, but then bring him the richest dessert you have.” Thor told the waiter, and Loki raised both eyebrows to stare at him. Intricate palate, simple compliment, ridiculous sweet to finish--it was spot on, and Loki found himself impressed. 

 ~

By the time their food had come along, Loki was halfway through a second glass of wine. He'd been firing off questions and trying to force himself to remember past interaction with Thor, but nothing clicked. Thor was patient with him, understanding, and didn't push. In fact, Loki felt that if he just sat there then Thor would be content to stare at him all night long with that contented grin permanently planted on his face. Thor's eyes still showed a sadness just beneath the surface, and Loki found himself absolutely itching to know why, but he didn't know where to begin even thinking about it. He had no foundation to go on. At least the wine was helping to dull the headache he knew he should have.

“How long have you known me?”

“Over a thousand years.” Thor answered without hesitation, and Loki shook his head.

“That's a cheesy line, you know.”

Thor only smiled fondly and dug into his steak.

“There is a painting you made that I like the best. There were floating metal objects in it, and lightning was striking one.” Thor began, and Loki remembered it well. He had started painting in the middle of the night; he'd heard the lightning strike in his dreams and it woke him up. “Are your dreams the inspiration for everything you make?” Thor was asking, and when Loki nodded behind the rim of his glass, Thor's interest was visibly piqued.

“Loki what is the next thing you are painting?” He asked. Loki thought about the spires, tall, gleaming and bright against a foreign sky, and he described them to Thor, watching Thor's face grow brighter and brighter with every word. Loki did not understand, and Thor did not explain just yet, he merely told him to continue painting the things he saw at night.

 ~

Dessert time found Loki moaning around his fork while Thor sat watching him gleefully. He really did understand Loki's taste, and Loki's mind was wandering as he ate, musing about just how else Thor could read his desires and how he could put them to good use. For the first time in a long while, he was consumed with thoughts about true intimacy, and the decadence of the dessert was not helping him to stop. He watched Thor carefully as Thor began telling him...something. He was doing a horrible job of listening, instead watching the muscles move in Thor's arms (even past the shirt sleeves) while he made expressive hand motions as he spoke.

Loki had a very sparse and uneventful love-life; normally he didn't think about it at all and he felt he hardly had the time or energy or concern for such things, but if the urge suddenly struck him to have some company, it was incredibly easy for him to pick up an attractive stranger at an art show and go home with them for a night. This hadn't happened for a year or so, Loki supposed, and he couldn't even remember the strangers' faces. He never thought of himself as having a 'type' either, and he wasn't picky about gender, but he'd decided now. Thor was his type. Perhaps it was the wine talking. But past that was an unexplainable pull--a sense that he would 'fit' with Thor, if he stayed in contact with him. He never felt particularly drawn to anyone, not even the occasional random lay, but he couldn't ignore the fact that Thor made him feel like his senses were heightened. If he truly were nothing but a monochrome blur on his own, then with Thor at least he felt like there was a splash of color in his life that didn't come from his paintbrush.

Not that he liked or desired color or anything. 

When they had finished their dinner Thor took him back outside to walk, and even warned him when they were going back toward the tower. Having someone already be that aware of his mental state was a bit unnerving, but welcome, Loki decided. If someone other than himself could help to keep him in check, perhaps he could truly make progress. Now, Loki stayed close to Thor's side and curiously peered at him while he talked, still absorbed with thoughts on how someone like Thor preferred to make love. He discovered that Thor was not the type to be concerned about personal space, and he'd touch Loki frequently. Each touch seemed to threaten to burn his skin, and the frantic static that lived in the back of Loki's mind wanted to complain, but his instincts told him he was truly only deprived of physical contact.

The streets were loud and busy on this Saturday night, and Thor tended to automatically guide Loki with a hand on the small of his back, like if they weren't careful someone would run him over. Loki was tall, but he was slight and unimposing for the most part, blending into his surroundings unless something upset him. That didn't mean he needed such protection though, and still, Thor gave it.

The blond then caught his intently scrutinizing gaze, and paused completely until Loki blinked at him silently.

“Strange.” Thor began. “You used to give me that look many times in our past.”

Loki felt himself turn red. They must have been together in the past then—he'd been thinking about how Thor's weight would feel pressed over top of him, holding him down, bodily keeping him stable, until he couldn't hear the torture of his own mind.

~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know where to cut this chapter off D:  
> Some backstory next. ~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this is moving so slowly...probably good to just wait until I've got more chapters up and can get back to updating this regularly because it's still a little uneventful...!

_3 years prior, in Asgard_ ~

 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to turn around and leave until he calmed his boiling blood. he wanted to sit down and cry, right there in the center aisle of the throne-room. He wanted to hug his brother for another couple of years, constant, close, protecting and keeping him.

Thor's eyes fixed on Loki's as he approached the throne of Asgard, where Loki stood in front of it at the bottom of the stairs, just standing, waiting, his expression unreadable. It was only when Thor got close that he detected a very slight fear there, but only because he knew Loki so well.

As if reading Thor's mind (and perhaps he had), Loki finally spoke, his voice full and fluid as always in the vast air of the golden hall.

“I am not a ghost.”

Thor still could find no words, but his vision was blurring Loki's face from his vision suddenly, and he swiped the tears away, quickly—he could not have Loki's face blurring. Even after he'd thought Loki dead (both times), the face watched, burned and etched into his memory, in his dreams, always behind his eyelids and the stinging guilt he always felt would serve as his punishment for letting Loki slip away.

But if Loki was clearly in front of him now...the clarity of his face could heal the pain. The clarity of his presence would mean that Loki's face could mean joy again, memory and life-blood, no longer empty. He had Loki's face in his hands without even thinking, and Loki flinched. Thor didn't react to that yet, he crushed Loki in his embrace, muffled the Trickster's startled exclamation of indignance, pressed his whole body against living, breathing, Loki.

And in the next breath he was screaming and crying and shaking Loki by the shoulders until he heard the teeth rattling in that black haired head.

“How could you put me through what you did?? How long have you been here!?” He was yelling as if Loki were miles and miles away because that's what it felt like when he realized what Loki would have had to do to be standing in the throne room right now.

The silence that followed was thick with tension and apprehension and caution and everything that Thor wanted to disappear from his and Loki's relationship. Loki's face still looked calm but he was prone, fully expecting Thor to hit him in the next breath. Thor had to admit he wanted to, but he wanted to embrace him for even longer, and the feelings jolted through him together and caused him to act on neither. He just stood, red faced, watery-eyed and just wanting to know _why_.

“Would you truly have been able to return to your Earth, with your woman and your invaluable friends, had you not thought I was dead and gone? Surely you could rest easier believing I'd gone to Valhalla.”

“Did you believe I would never return here? Did you truly think you could keep this secret for eternity??” Thor shouted, having attempted to calm down, but still louder than he'd intended. Loki sighed and turned, walking a few steps away but keeping his eye on Thor, pacing to the side and stirring his deep green longcoat. He shrugged. “No...but I did not expect you back so soon. Before I was done establishing myself more solidly amonst the nine-realms as its ruler.”

“Where is father? What did he say when you just—resurrected yourself from the grave?” Thor's voice was going high with shock and confusion now.

Loki blinked innocently, turning all the way back around. “He fell into Odin-sleep. He did not say anything. And so, with mother gone...” Loki fell silent and the two stared at one another for a long, long while, just breathing, looking. The silence of the great hall was deafening and the beauty of the clear day outside meant nothing.

Nothing mattered but the other's sudden presence, and once again they were in a balancing act, so close to becoming one piece but lacking the words to make it so.

Thor could not be sure he could trust those words. They'd come so easily. Loki had always done this...said one thing so effortlessly and the opposite was the truth—or better yet—the truth was there, but it was not the whole truth, or did not include the end result of said truth. Loki stared back, calm and enigmatic. He did look like a king, currently, in his long green overcoat and thick brocade and gold thread. His hair hung loose and long and curled about his shoulders in midnight waves. He looked to be doing very well with the throne.

Thor was conflicted. Loki had been in every dream of every dark night he'd had since that day in Svartalfheim.

Coming home was like a stab wound, viewing all the familiar halls and golden arches from all his tortured nightmares, where Loki walked alone and unharmed, uneffected by war and strife, in a world where he was safe and sometimes one where he hadn't committed any crimes. Sometimes in the dreams he was just young Loki, content in the pillar shadows with his magic and books. It was a nightmare then because it pained him to think of Loki at all, and the fact that he would never exist in that manner again, let alone while care-free. And now, here Loki was. It was bittersweet, the flavor of cruel deception, and it polarized Thor's emotional process.

He hadn't the time to dwell on the reasoning behind Loki's hiding in Asgard, in plain sight. He did want the answers, but he could not get them all at once—Loki would likely not explain them all in some long grand story. He'd find out slowly, over time, he decided. They were walking now; Thor had wanted to see Odin, confirm with his eyes that the All-Father truly only slept.

“Have you come to take the throne back, Thor? Because I will not hand it to you so easily.” Loki said suddenly as Thor followed him through the corridors. He'd said it lightly but Thor could not see Loki's face, only sense the edge in the tone—one that only he could probably detect. He was not sure how to proceed now, if he were honest. He chose not to answer, and Loki did not goad him.

 

“There. You see?”

They stood in the doorway of Odin's large chamber-room, and there in the large bed, their father lay peacefully. However, there was an obvious difference. Asgard's particle energy, the energy that ran through their weapons, defenses, holograms and magic, always had a yellow shimmer to it in its purest form. It shone translucently gold, grandly accenting the eternal realm with it's beauty and brightness. Around the All-Father in his sleep, an aura of protection would normally shine in the same color. This aura was pale green. Just as bright, shimmering, but green.

“What is it you've done, Loki...?” Thor asked tiredly, and Loki only smiled lightly as Thor stared at him in stern apprehension.

“I've connected myself to the entirety of Asgard. It's all me, Thor.”

The feeling that that revelation caused Thor could only be described as a massive unease, and perhaps even a bit of fear. Why Loki would attempt to maintain something so far-reaching and drastic was beyond him. He could not say that he fully understood Loki's use of magic, or what Loki's limits were, but something told him that this large a usage should be damaging in more ways than it were helpful.

"Loki...this is going to far. You cannot keep this up for years upon years it--it has to be overwhelming for you to use seidr in such a way." His words were falling on deaf ears, he could already tell. Loki only watched him blankly, then uttered a small scoffing noise.

"And what would you know of magic, and how I might use it, Thor? Mother taught _me_ , not you."

All at once Thor could tell what this was, what all of it was. "You're trying to prove something. To compensate for the loss of Mother by personally guarding the realm." He watched Loki's jaw stiffen, but no reply was given. "It was not your fault, Loki." Again, no reaction. He reached out and grabbed Loki by the upper arm, making him look, forcing their eyes to meet. "It was NOT your fault." He said it more solidly, and this time it was a question merely disguised as a statement, seeking and needing Loki to confirm its truth. 

"It was the defenses. The guards, shields...They were all incompetent, and so were you. I, however, am not. And you will not take the throne from me." Loki finally answered, his gaze steady but his voice betraying him with a slight waver. Before Thor could say that he wasn't sure he wished to, Loki had wrenched out of his grasp and turned to quickly walk away down the corridor. 

~~~~

_Present Day_

Their outing had ended, and Thor had made sure to accompany Loki safely all the way back to his apartment. Loki's thoughts had run away from him unbridled, and he could feel himself wanting Thor to come inside, to not leave. He didn't want to be alone with his mirror, alone with his paintings and emptiness, and he didn't want to be alone in his bed. 

Thor was watching him sadly again, for no real reason that he could immediately tell. They stopped in front of Loki's apartment door, the wind whistling through the high rafters and giving Loki an excuse to crowd in close, blocking the wind from his thin frame, and Thor chuckled warmly, closing his arms around Loki protectively. "Will I be able to see you tomorrow?" Thor was asking, and his low, soothing tone struck something right in the center of Loki's being.

"You could simply....keep seeing me. Until tomorrow. Until morning." The words had come out so fluidly, so automatically that Loki hadn't realized how obvious he was being until Thor's eyes widened in a stunned, inquisitory stare. But he hadn't moved his arms away. "I'm sorry. I--" Loki tripped over his words, stammering, feeling his face burning even as he still found himself pressing in closer, burying his face in Thor's shirt to hide his flushed cheeks. "I cannot believe I just said that..." Loki was grumbling, feeling his heart pounding out of sheer nerves, and he was calling himself an idiot in his mind, angry with himself for wanting Thor to stay so badly,  _so badly_ that it nearly hurt him--

But then Thor's hand was raising his chin, and Thor's mouth was hot, pressed against his chilled lips in the spring night air.

~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, and still slow build...but I am very much still wanting to move along with this story so I hope it is at least mildly entertaining!

~~~~

Loki didn't know how he'd even gotten his keys in the correct hand, but all at once they were stumbling through his door, attached at the mouth, and Thor's foot kicked it closed. It banged so hard Loki thought he heard that accursed mirror in the bathroom rattle with annoyance. For once, he did not care what was happening around him in the silence of his empty home, Thor's hands were cradling his face like he was the most precious thing in the universe and Loki could feel himself making a small sound of need, tugging imploringly at Thor's clothing as his back hit the nearest wall.

But then it was over.

It was over so suddenly he was certain he had just sobbed, but his thoughts didn't want to dwell on anything but golden skin and sun-kissed hair.

“I'm sorry..” He blurted immediately as he watched Thor's face, and the obvious hesitance there. It was more than hesitance as Loki noted the tightness in Thor's arms--it was blatant restraint.

“No, I am sorry. I should not have kissed you. Not so early.”

“Why?” Loki asked automatically, wishing that he could just stop _wanting_. He felt as if he were embarrassing himself, but Thor only smiled at him, stroked his hair just once, and stood back so that Loki was no longer pressed to the wall.

“It would not be right. If you knew...If you knew who you were, you would not be so willing.” 

Loki didn't understand. “But...obviously this has happened before. Or you wouldn't even have said that.”  
Thor didn't seem like he wanted to confirm or deny that at the moment, and Loki let it alone. They stood in the dark for a few long seconds, tension hot and thick between them, before Loki wordlessly switched on a lamp, and Thor moved to glance around the space, but not before Loki could spy the added tension in the wonderfully defined muscles of Thor's shoulders and neck as Thor made himself walk away. A distant rumble of thunder was heard in the far distance, and then Thor actually flinched. Loki gave him a funny look, but took a few steps toward the window.

“There definitely wasn't supposed to be a storm today...I checked.” Loki mused casually, leaning to peer as far as he could between the city high-rises into the black horizon.

“Do you always check the weather?” Thor asked, something in his voice still sounded stiff, but Loki was quickly picking up on something. If he pretended to not return Thor's curiosity, Thor would let something slip on his own.

“Mm.” Loki said not a word at first, then shrugged, keeping his back to Thor and looking up at the sky through the open windowframe. “I'm torn. I like storms because for some reason they feel comforting, and they cover up the stars. Make the sky less vast and yawning... They close everything in, like a blanket of light and smoke and sound for a moment. But...I hate storms...Still, because they cover up the stars.”

At least he hadn't meant to say much.

He turned to gauge what Thor would give him back in response, but Thor was all the way across the room instead, peering at Loki's undone artwork. There was the impression of piercing light on one particular canvas, in pieces, disconnected. It was an undone image, and Thor couldn't help but stare at it and regard it exactly as what it was. It was the visual disconnect of Loki's true mind. He turned away from it, unable to stand the fractions, and found Loki staring back at him from the suddenly more widely open window. The distant thunderous sounds flowed through, and Loki's frame relaxed against the hard white of the wall, pliant, innocent. He didn't yet know what it should mean to Thor, that he should relax in the sight of thunder.

It both hurt and helped.

It hurt, because Loki did not realize what it was he'd done, vibing with the energy of a storm, opening his lungs to it, opening his home to it. Loki had lost the ability to feel the pulse of magic and thunder than flowed from Thor's veins and into the night sky. The storm grew closer now, as Thor's reminiscence swelled, out of his control.  
Loki did not yet make the connection. But in Loki's piercing and now suspicious gaze, Thor could at least make some sort of beneficial move to help them both. He came closer, closer, stepped close enough to touch Loki, but he didn't. Not yet.

"I know that you do enjoy thunder. It might hide the sky but it replaces what it hides with visible, visceral energy." The flashes outside followed his words. He hadn't meant for that to happen, but his focus on Loki had caused it regardless. Loki jumped, his eyes calculating and ever-observing, scanning Thor's body uncertainly, then swiftly switching to gaze at the floor.  
Thor could tell. He was avoiding memory, shutting out familiarity. He did not want to push it just now. Loki's increasingly rapid breathing had him backing off. By now, the thunderstorm outside had completely taken hold, winds pulsing through the streets, gusting through the still open window--

Loki spoke. "Will you stay here tonight?"

It was so simple, and Loki seemed afraid of what his mind was trying to recall, and Thor hesitated in responding. If he stayed, he was certain this thunderstorm would stay with him. Often, his emotions would betray his ultimate control, and in this situation, staying with Loki would keep the storm coming. It would rage through the night for want of his brother's true return. If he left Loki...the storm would likely dissipate and follow him away. Loki wouldn't feel it anymore. That felt like some sort of betrayal.  
Loki could not possibly know that of course. But yet, the inquisitive gaze in Loki's eyes said that he did know. Somewhere inside, he knew or at least guessed.  
For a moment Thor debated whether it would be healthy to give Loki such a strong hint to his identity, when before it seemed to pain Loki when he received a significant lead.  
Meanwhile, Loki's keen gaze was fixed on him as if he were an impossible puzzle. He had no choice, at least not according to his own reasoning.

"I will stay. If it's what you would like." Thor offered. Instantly the stare of distrustful ire in Loki's features dissipated, replaced by semi-caution and overwhelming curiosity. It was so very, very Loki.

"Would you like a shower?" Loki casually asked next, edging away from beside the open window without turning his back to Thor. Thor noted that Loki almost approached the bathroom but did not look at it or go inside. He instead slunk away toward his bed. 

"I would like one. But would you like one as well?" Thor asked, his tone switching automatically to one of hopefully innocent flirtation. His heart immediately soared when Loki replied;

"I would take it with you. But, perhaps, after the 3rd or 4th date."

At that, Thor disappeared into the bathroom, trying to remain collected and neutral. He heard Loki call out something extra, a few moments afterward.

"Ignore that mirror. Whatever it does, ignore it." Loki called out. Thor glanced at the mirror, brow drawn in concern as he removed his shirt.

"Why?"

A short silence followed.

"If you are so familiar with me, as you say you are...then perhaps it'll make more sense to you than it does me. That mirror is not...it's not right." At this, Thor stared even harder at the thing, stepping cautiously closer. 

"Why?" He called out again to Loki, but with slightly more urgency. Loki still did not answer right away, but at Thor's closer inspection he could see a shimmer of pale green at the frames, almost as if they were at the edge of his vision. When he moved, it nearly vanished but it was still there, subtle as a whisper, or a foggy illusion.

"It moves. It isn't me." Loki's halting explanation followed from the bedroom timidly. 

At a certain angle, Thor knew he could move his head and see outside the open bathroom door, toward where it sounded like Loki was sitting. He moved.  
He moved slowly, his vision revealing what was behind him inch by inch, and at the correct angle, he passed the door and could see beyond it.  
There, on the edge of the bed, Loki was meeting his gaze in the mirror. But the gaze was so _knowing_ and familiar. It was the Loki that remembered everything--   
Thor spun around instantly, heart thudding in his chest, his fist clenching as if around Mjolnir's shaft. But when he could see through the doorway, Loki was staring back at him in fear. 

"Loki?" He breathed out quietly.

Loki shifted uneasily in his seated spot on the edge of the bed.

"You saw it. You saw what's wrong. It isn't all in my head, is it?...Who...What am I? Thor?"

Thor couldn't tell him outright. He could only stare blankly, resisting the urge to go back to the mirror's gaze for a glimpse at what once was his.

~~~~


End file.
